What Forever Means
by harmkitty
Summary: ...The true meaning of forever. I can't explain without giving away the plot...um...yaoi. 2+5/5+2...hinted 3+4 please review if you decide to read. This is kinda AU-ESPECIALLY the first part....


Disclaimer: nothing to do with GW belongs to me. no sue.  
Note: THIS IS GUNDAM WING...you just can't tell it from this part very well. Sorry....um....I'm gonna put out the next part pretty much immediatly, and that'll have characters you recognize better...^.~ this story line could be considered AU...it is DEFINATLY yaoi (main pairing is 2+5/5+2)....please read and review! thanks!! ~harmy~  
  
  
  
FOREVER  
prologue: The Old Ways  
  
  
A young man sits on a rock and stares to sea. His hair, as black as night, sits still upon his shoulders as the setting sun glints blindingly off the water causing his dark eyes to glow amber. The night is quiet, but not serene. The stones he sits on are familiar but not comfortable. The sun is warm but not uplifting. He is seeing the end of an age, the destruction of his people.  
  
The forest behind him stirs, but the faint noise does not rouse the boy from his spot. It would be an animal, forraging for the scarce food that remained, or perhaps it was a soldier, with golden hair and ice blue eyes, come to kill the boy for being born into a civilization that did not worship one God and did not let men rule with force. The boy was afraid of no animal, and could escape no such warrior, so he stood, watching as the last rays of day streaked the sky brilliant colors before giving into the night.  
  
"Jerash!" The boy turned, the light of the sun catching strands of his fine hair and making them glow as brightly as the invader's swords did. With the sun behind him, the boy looked more like a good apparition, sent to save his people, instead of a young man lost in the sorrow of a war he never wished for.  
  
Another boy was pushing skillfully through the forest, his own raven hair a tangle around his delecate face. A look of tender caring filled the young man's indego eyes, but even that would not shatter the porcelain mask of pain that covered his young face. "Jerash," he repeated, stumbling free of the woods to stand on the large rock. The rays of the sun were brilliant, yet he ignored them, seeking instead the sun of the other boy's eyes.  
  
Jerash stood, a soft smile on his face. "Facri," he said, embracing the shorter man. Their hug lasted long, but was filled with tenderness...not the tenderness of brothers, or even good friends...it was the embrace of two people who shared one soul; who knew each other intamately and loved each other unconditionally.  
  
At last, Facri pulled away, worry in his large eyes. "Jerash, things are changing,"  
  
Jerash nodded, the haunted look returning to his eyes; the distant look once again crossing his features. "I know...but we will survive it."  
  
Facri grabbed the other's hand, shaking his head violently so his dark curls shifted down his back. "I need to be sure of that," pale tears were showing in the gorgeous eyes, the last glow of sun reflecting off of them silently. A dark hand reached up to brush them away, but Facri caught it, held it. "Jerash, I need you to go away from here...I need you at least to survive."  
  
Jerash frowned, freeing a hand to gently stroke Facri's tanned cheek. "If you feel that is best, isar," he whispered the word of caring so softly that the wind could barely make out the syllables. "Then we can leave to the west-there are villages down there and-"  
  
Facri was shaking his head once again. "Not we," he forced out. "You. I cannot go."  
  
Jerash's eyes grew cold with hurt, his hands grew heavy in Facri's own. "You know I will not leave without you," he murmured, his mind set in stone.  
  
"I know you have to." Facri didn't try to break the shell that was rapidly hardening around his friend, his love...it would be so much easier for him to leave hating Facri, then with loyalty and worry in his heart. "My father is chief, and-"  
  
"And the invaders dare not hurt him!" Jerash erupted, wrenching away from the smaller boy. "They can't hurt the leader of our people, it would cause them too much trouble!"  
  
"They already have," Facri gasped out, his voice wavering, but his eyes remaining fixed on the other boy. "They took him last night, I'm surprised you haven't heard...they took him outside, and into the square. They demanded confession..." the words paused, ears weld. The stone that surrounded Jerash's heart cracked and crumbled into a fine dust. He took a step forward, sudden uncertainty growing within his mind. "My father didn't lie, Jerash," Facri was looking at him now, the emotion in the dark pools of his eyes was enough to drown to older boy. "He told them he was a priest, he told them he was our chief...and they told him that he was to be cleansed."  
  
Cleansed, by fire, like so many others. The men, the women, the children...thrown screaming alive into their funeral pyres to be cleansed of their "evil"...of the influence of Old World Gods...Jerash grabbed Facri tightly but gently, pulling his small, shuddering body close and stroking the long black hair with a free hand. Facri was sobbing now, his tears wetting the homespun tunic that covered Jerash's chest, but he was speaking. Between sobs, words still formed and so Jerash still listened.  
  
"They'll come for me next, Jerash," Facri's voice, though softened slightly by Jerash's clothes and chest, was still painfully audible. "I can't run-they'll follow, and more people will pay...and I can't lie either, Jerash..." Tear streaked face turned towards Jerash; dark eyes beneath thin brows and long langes pleaded with him. "They'll find out about you and they'll come for you then. They cannot harm me, if you are safe...please, Jerash..."  
  
Jerash sighed, his mind made up for him by the smaller boy. Holding him at arm's length, Jerash fixed a serious gaze on the other. "You know I cannot resist your spells," he whispered, hoping to get a small rise out of the boy. No luck-but then, he was never so optimistic. A sigh, a tear...Jerash's own, this time. "I will do as you say," he murmered.  
  
"You will grow old?"  
  
"I will grow old." Kneeling, Jerash reached into his boot and pulled a small hunting dagger, stained slightly by the blood of rabbit and dear. Facri's eyes widened, but no protest left his lips. Staring into the deep orbs that had first entranced him years ago, Jerash took a strand of his own fine hair and with a quick movement of the knife, sliced it off.  
  
"I will," Jerash said solumnly, switching easily into the old tongue of promises and prayers. "love you forever," he offered Facri the lock of hair.  
  
Ignoring the silky threads in Jerash's outsteached hand, Facri instead dove for the blade that Jerash held in the other. His hair was longer than Jerash, meant more to him than the hunter...yet without hesitation, he swiftly cut a sizable strand from his head.  
  
"I will love you forever as well," he said, the old tongue sounded ever more natural and elegant from his lips. Facri removed the leather pouch he wore around his neck, and carefully put the dark curls into it, then offered it to Jerash. Eyes gaurded, the taller boy accepted the precious gift, placing his own hair in Facri's palm in exchange.  
  
Swift as the wind, Facri was hugging him with a fiercness unparalleled. "Now go, isar..." a slight hesitation, and then, in a voice softer than before, Jerash heard the word used between husband and wife...between the bonded. "kiren. Go now!"  
  
Jerash was shoved away from the young priest, pain and hurt and love filling his heart, causing his blood to boil. The tear in Facri's eyes...they hurt him the most. He said a silent good-bye, his eyes conveying more than his voice ever could...and then he walked away, into the dark woods that the invader's avoided...away from his people; his history and his love.  
  
Jerash avoided villages, sticking to the woods he knew best. It was summer, and though the nights were cool, they did not bother him. Food was plentiful, he was, after all, a hunter...but his heart ached with lonliness. At night he would lie on the ground or curl up by a tree...but his eyes were not drawn to the stars as they usually would be. Instead, he found his hands gently stroking the small leather pouch that hung beneath his tunic. He drew strength from it, and often would wake up with it still in his grasp.  
  
Three nights into the voyage, he lay on a bed of moss and ferns, his dark eyes open, staring but not seeing anything. The pain in his heart was worse than he could bear; the pouch between his fingers hot as though on fire. Jerash didn't sleep at all the night that his beloved Facri was killed, and the morning found him hardened; distant and changed.  
  
Fall came quickly then, as the days held no joy for Jerash. He hunted and built fires at night...he had made a promise, a promise to live, and live he would. But he drew no enjoyment from it.  
  
As the first snow drew near, Jerash found a village, far from his old home. The people in this new town were wary and silent...they had felt the invader's fists as much as he, and were forever scarred by the experience...yet Jerash did not boast of sun-colored hair, nor did he have the arrogance that the townspeople had come to expect from outsiders, and so they allowed him to stay.  
  
Jerash built himself a hut, away from the main of the village, and there he lived his days, growing old as he promised.  
  
Many winters later, he still remained in the shack with his few possestions and a leather pouch hanging around his neck. He was tired; old and waiting for death...but he had made a promise years ago, a promise he refused to break...so he lived. It was no easy task. He bones ached and his muscels hurt...he was growing helpless. He could no long hunt or build or fish...he could barely drag himself from the straw mattress he slept on to stir the fire. Every so often a young woman would come by. A woman with gold for hair ant the name of Athena...a daughter of rape, raised with love and taught skills of survival. She would come and stir the fire, bring Jerash tea and listen to his stories of the old world, now gone and nearly forgotten.  
  
Athena met a man and married, so she didn't come by very often any more. Jerash lay in his bed, thin blankets covering his frail frame. He hadn't the strength to care for the dying fire...the cold was seeping in, chilling his bones and making his rasp with each breath. He'd kept his promise, hadn't he? He'd grown old...  
  
Thin, boney hands, gently pulled the old pouch from beneath his woolen tunic, stroking it's folds gently. In his minds eye, a young man smiled at him, dark eyes filled with passion and caring.  
  
"I'll love you forever," Jerash whispered, closing his eyes and inviting the cold to come. The heartfelt words spoken in the oldest language left his whithered lips to die on the wind...with Jerash, the last of the Old Ways died. But he was with his love...his Facri...forever.  
  
  
  
  
  
note: YES THIS IS GUNDAM WING. Read the next part, okay? ~sighs~ 


End file.
